Content Harry Potter
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Summary: Can Harry control his vast new well of power before it consumes him? H/G, R/Hr

Disclaimer: I own little.  I certainly do not own these characters or locations, and however poorly the characters are portrayed, I do not own their mannerisms.

Thank you to my Beta; Donalddeutsch

The story in multiple parts:


Chapter 1: Unexpected Rituals

He seemed to be floating over a clearing in a dense forest.  He looked down on a circle of robed figures facing a central silent person sitting on a raised throne, black cloak covering his face and features.  The evil radiating from his being was nearly tangible.  The air pulsed with the beat of the chants of the cloaked circle, differing words floating around the clearing making any individual’s chant impossible to discern.  As one they raised a hand clutching their individual wands.  Suddenly the disparate din broke into one sudden incantation spoken simultaneously by the assembled robed attendees.

Harry shot bolt upright from his deep sleep, the dream just a fleeting memory.  As he struggled to grasp a hold of the dream he felt the first licks of an inner fire.  Suddenly he was left breathless as the fire swelled to fill his entire being.

What the…burns…what’s happening to me? Harry screamed in his mind.

Harry’s eyes watered with the searing heat of the fire within.  He couldn’t think.  No thoughts, just pain.

Harry struggled to his desk, clutching a piece of parchment from the center drawer.  He quickly scratched out a note to the only person that he could think could help him.

Professor Dumbledore,

Dreamed about a ritual.  Seemed like Voldemort.  Woke up with a fire consuming me inside.  Help.


Hedwig swooped to his shoulder and stuck out her leg, obviously glad to help her agitated master.  Harry rolled the letter and attached it to her leg and bade her a speedy trip.  She flew out of his open window and soared to the north.

Harry watched for the seconds that he could see her under the full moon before returning to bed, but not sleep.

Some things are to be cherished, especially in hard times.  When you are facing the revival of the most evil and, unfortunately, influential dark wizard in your long life, the simplest things must be cherished.

Sleep, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry mused, is certainly something to be cherished.  Disappointedly, this musing took place seconds after being awoken by a heavy tapping on his chamber window.  Postal owls are trained to wait until morning, at breakfast time, to deliver mail.  This is to promote the uninterrupted sleep of the mail recipients, but apparently this particular post owl did not value the Professor’s sleep as much as Dumbledore did himself.

Professor Dumbledore, always a stately, proper man, actually grumbled for a few moments after being awoken, as he swung his legs to the side of his comfortable bed.  He had been dreaming of reading in a chair, in front of the fire with a nice comfortable pair of socks.  Not a complex or lofty dream, but one of simple pleasures.

The professor opened the window to his chambers to find a white snowy owl flying through and roosting on the footboard of his bed, just feet away.  He was alarmed at the identity and appearance of the owl.  This was the snowy owl of one of his students, a very special Mister Harry Potter, and the owl seemed to be distressed and eager for the Professor to relieve him of his burden.  Most persons, even with a magical background, would be hopeless in discerning the emotional state of an owl, but after a good century and a half of life, Albus Dumbledore had seen owls in many states and this owl radiated concern.

The Professor untied the note and opened it to read its contents.  The Professor’s concern at the owl’s appearance shifted from the owl to the sender of the message.  His student, a very special one indeed, was in trouble.  The letter, although short, allowed for some guesses to be made, but what could not be mistaken were the marks burned into the thick parchment where his student had rested his fingers.  In Albus’s experience, only uncontrolled raw magical energy would make marks such as he was seeing.

Most wizards and witches have never experienced the fire burning within their being that came uncontained great magical power, but the Headmaster was not most people.  He recognized the symptoms for what it may indeed be, the burns on the paper having given more clue than the short note itself.  This could be very dangerous for his pupil and those around without proper intervention.

Professor Dumbledore made immediate plans to retrieve Harry Potter from the residence of his Aunt and Uncle on Privet Drive in Little Winging.  With any luck, this would be enough to save the boy yet.

Harry lay exhausted.

The past seven hours had been spent restlessly on the bed, his insides attempting to be barbequed by the explosion of power that an attempted ritual by his number one enemy.  For a fifteen-year-old boy, Harry Potter had a long list of enemies, each believing to be his arch nemesis.

Surely his classmate Draco Malfoy believed to be his arch, years of snide remarks, tossed insults and almost duels to their relationship.

Draco’s own father had been against Harry less than a month ago and blamed Harry for landing him in the wizarding prison, Azkaban.

Bellatrix Lestrange certainly was not a fan of his goodness.  He had personally fought her in the ministry of magic and she had failed to eradicate him, earning her the displeasure and surely punishment at the hands of her master.

Most in the wizarding world would agree with Tom Marvolo Riddle, a.k.a. Lord Voldemort, that he was indeed Harry Potter’s number one Arch Nemesis.

In Harry’s mind at the moment, however, they would all be wrong.  Currently the greatest enemy to Harry’s survival seemed to be his own magical power.  It felt like it was eating him up from the inside.

Harry lay on his back with no thought of actually achieving sleep.  He was using all of his will to just to keep his eyes from watering and his muscles from cramping.

With the rise of the sun, Harry decided to move around and see if he could take his mind off of his current problem.  He grabbed come clean clothes and decided to shower.  Maybe a cold one would dowse the flames.  Of course, when had Harry been so lucky?

By seven in the morning the rest of the house was up and making their way down the stairs.  Harry decided that food at this point would be a good thing to distract him.  If this malady was to be the end of him, it would not be due to starvation.  He could not count on the food at the Dursleys being plentiful, but it would sustain him.

In his years at his aunt and uncle’s house, Harry had never been well fed.  They always fed him enough to keep him alive, if not happy.  This only served to highlight his dislike of the summer holiday.  His time at school was not always objectively the best of times, but he always would rather be there then at his ‘home’.

Harry heard the doorbell and waited for the inevitable follow-up scream.

“Boy!” came the familiar scream of Uncle Vernon.  “Get the door!”

Harry left his room and went down the stairs to open the door and see what the day had in store.  He opened the door and gasped.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Harry exclaimed in greeting.  “That was fast.  How did you get my letter that quickly?”

“You have a remarkable owl,” the Headmaster answered.  “I would have been here faster, but I had to make some preparations.  I have made some inquiries with the usual sources and we should have some results this evening.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said.  “What is your plan?”

“First let me see if my suspicions are correct,” said the Headmaster.

Harry stood before him in the entry of the suburban house as Professor Dumbledore looked him over through his half moon glasses, tutting and mumbling here and there.

“Well, it would seem that my suspicions are correct, but still, we must wait for Poppy’s expert ministrations to confirm my thoughts and to enlighten us as to the root cause.  Now, I believe that it is time for you to leave home and come back to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said.  “The solution to this problem of yours will require you to perform magic eventually this summer, whatever the cause, and the Ministry has not granted an exception to the restriction of underage magic for you.”

“You asked Minister Fudge to allow me to do magic outside of school?” Harry inquired, surprised.

“Yes,” Dumbledore explained, “I believed after last year that it would be the best thing to allow you to defend yourself, but alas, it has not yet been allowed…no matter, you are still allowed to perform magic while at Hogwarts, so there we will go.”

“Now, sir?” Harry asked, his exhaustion showing through clearly.

“Yes,” the Headmaster said, “go get ready to leave.”

He left up the stairs to get his trunk and supplies and returned in minutes with his trunk broom and owl cage, a remarkable pace for someone as wrung through as Harry.

“Hedwig hasn’t returned yet, sir,” Harry said, indicating his owl’s empty cage.

“I sent her to the owlery for a rest,” the Headmaster said, “and she will still be there when we arrive.”

“How are we traveling, sir?” Harry asked, not relishing the idea of another portkey.

“Fawkes will take you to my office and I will follow with your luggage in a moment,” Professor Dumbledore said with a small smile through his beard.

“And my aunt and uncle, sir?” Harry asked.

“Allow me to say goodbye to them for you,” the kindly Grandfather figure offered.

“Okay,” Harry agreed.  “Where is Fawkes, sir?”

“Fawkes, I need your help please,” Professor Dumbledore made his request to the open air.

“Very helpful birds, phoenixes,” Dumbledore said to Harry’s bewildered look.  “When they are attached to you, they will always help when asked,” the Professor said.

Just then a fireball appeared above Dumbledore’s shoulder and burned itself out leaving a stunning red and gold bird standing on his shoulder.  He reached inside of his robes and withdrew a bright red pellet the size of the end of your finger.

“Phoenix treats.  Made from cinnamon, jalapenos and wasabi,” the Headmaster said, answering the unasked question on Harry’s face.  “Fawkes just loves them.”  And he obviously did, as the phoenix ate the offered treat quickly and then nipped his companion’s finger in appreciation, a behavior that Harry was well familiar with from Hedwig.

“Fawkes, please take Harry here to my office,” the Professor requested.

The great bird flew to Harry’s shoulder with a trill and clasped hard to the flesh through his clothes and burst the entire pair into a quick inferno of flames that disappeared just as fast.

“Boy!  Who was it already?  Come in here!” came a booming voice from down the hall.

“Oh, my.  I guess that this is my next duty.”

The headmaster sighed and went to this last task.

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